Pity Not The Insane
by Tu Es Chicago
Summary: Nnoitra's attempted suicide and his thoughts of those who pitied him were of mad nature, as were his intentions of overcoming them. Shot one-shot. Rated T for language on Nnoitra's part.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, therefore I can't take credit for this, bitch! Also, I sadly don't own Nnoitra…_

**A/N: Nyeh, I'm a masochist for writing this… so enjoy my depressing suicide fic.**

"_Still just a child…" _The words echoed, screaming in his mind, _"You've failed to move on past that state,"_ even once the fitfully sleeping arrancar had bolted into a sitting position, the words still echoed, the pitying looks still filled his vision. _"You're a wild animal…" _

"Shut up!" He growled, flinging himself harshly down to the bed, covering his face and ears with the pillow. "Stop it!" His voice was hoarse now, taking on a panicked, manic edge. Behind closed lids dance the imaged of the horrified faces of the hollows, and the flames he, himself set to the entire colony rose up around, the smoke gagging and choking him, small children running about screaming… but the most horrific of all was the laughter.

It had a cruel sound to it, and it was much higher a register than the speaking voice of the one who emitted it. The man laughing continued about his crusade, the blood of men, women and children soiling his clothes like the paint of war.

The man was recognized as the one person of equal strength to Nnoitra… himself.

"_The only difference between we and they is that we were given to opportunity to evolve past that state."_

"Nelliel…" he growled. Of all those who extended their pity towards him, that of the third Espada was the worst. Each disapproving look or condescending speech was a pin in his side.

But she, he knew, was not the sole person who pitied him. Each time he passed, Zommari's forehead would crease; his normally expressionless eyes would take on a look both sad and disgusted.

Ulquiorra either refused to acknowledge his presence at all, or would mutter something about "Trash filling Las Noches." Such pity and disgust filled nearly very arrancar, save Szayel, but then again, what was the mind of a madman worth, regardless.

Even Ichimaru, the Foxface of no feeling, seemed to pity him. _"The poor bastard. He ain't even got a clue 'is own weakness." _They were words Ichimaru likely didn't know he'd heard, but they'd definitely had more impact than the silver-haired man even cared to ponder.

The Octava bolted upright again, cold sweat now drenching him, his ears ringing with sadistic laughter, cruel words, and the screams of a thousand dead men.

"God damn it," He hissed, dragging himself from the bed. Nnoitra knew he couldn't take it anymore. Was it possible to really be so vile, so awful that literally _everyone_ pitied him?

He looked against the wall of the small, darkened bedroom where, in the dim moonlight gleamed his beloved weapon, the dealer of each and every one of his cruelties. Santa Teresa, the only companion he'd ever needed, would perhaps be the end of him tonight. "No one'll pity me ever again," he spoke blankly, almost as a man possessed might.

At this thought, a wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a light seen in only that of the insane. _"I'll be free from that god-damned goat-bitch!" _The thought ringing through his cerebrum brought an electric wave of psychotic giddiness, a sense of freedom, and an electrifying burst of energy.

"_No more pitying looks! Not a single pointless fight ever again!" _A true, out-loud laughter, in a way crazier than that of his homicidal rampages escaped from between grinning lips.

His feet began to carry him, almost involuntarily through the halls, still laughing aloud, gripping his weapon tightly. Nnoitra walked with pride, the way one finally free of any torment whatsoever would, as the voiced and screaming echoing through his ears subsided and all images faded away.

Unaware his laughter had awoken anyone; he shoved through the large doors to Las Noches and escaped into the empty desert.

The night was cold, as usual, and unnervingly still. Not a hollow in Hueco Mundo was senseless enough to dare coming out at night, to face perhaps either a sadistic arrancar, a curious Szayel Aporro, or a starving menos.

The Octava's feet carried him without any conscious commands as to where they should carry him, before finally coming to a stop on a burned, blood-spattered ruin.

The charred, broken building had once been alive with Vasto Lordes of remarkable intelligence for those without a consciousness. That was, until Nnoitra had come there, only a few days ago. For a moment, he braced himself, fearing the voices and ghosts of imaged would haunt him once more, and was relieved when his vision remained true to the sight before him.

With a steady hand and confidence high, Nnoitra raised the rounded weapon first to his left wrist, and dug in the blade's edge. With one clean, quick sweep, he made a deep, even slash in the tough, durable flesh at if it were easy as butter to cut and half as valuable.

He barely felt the pain as the blood began to poor quickly from the open wound. Enough blood even, that he swore he felt a bit light-headed. "Yes..." He said quietly to himself, before weakly grasping Santa Teresa in his bloody hand and brought it slowly and shakily to his other wrist. His hand shook this time, weak from his self-inflicted slash, and this cut was slower, less precise—enough that he felt the pain when the blood began to poor.

He stood in wait for a bit, but the bleeding was slower than he had anticipated. Frowning, and beginning to feel impatient, the Octava used both hands and brought the steel to his neck, making another shaky, jagged, angry-looking scar across his throat.

Finally, now, after just a few short more minutes, his vision began to dot, and feeling to fade. He noticed not the fall until his head hit the ground and he could see nothing but sand.

"_Finally… no more pity… no more goat-bitch… I'm fucking free! I'm…" _Nnoitra noticed now that he could see nothing and thought became more and more difficult. _"I'm…"_ The thought slowed and effused to finish itself as his mind went dark, unaware of the Third Espada who'd been following him.

It wasn't until some time later, when his heavy eyelids opened again that Nnoitra even knew he hadn't died. _"What… why? I… failed. But how?"_ His eyes were in and out of focus as his mind wrapped itself around his own failure, until at last focus regained and he set his eyes on the woman who would now be the cause of many more tormented sleeps.

"_Nelliel."_ He thought with both distaste and shock. Nelliel? Save him? What reason would someone whom he hated so much have to save his life?

"Why did you… save me…?" He asked. Intentionally, he wanted to sound angry, but his confusion consumed the tone of his words this time.

"I did not do it to save you. I merely stopped your suicidal actions to prevent the loss of an Espada." She spoke without emotion, but her light eyes portrayed something unreadable, unfamiliar to Nnoitra.

"Nelliel… I truly do hate you. So why is it you keep following me around?" His words were cold, annoyed. What right did she have to keep him from what he wanted? Espada were easily replaced. Sanity was a thing much less easy to regain once lost.

"Because you are much weaker than I," was all the woman spoke before standing up and leaving.

"_Damn it…"_ He thought. It was now clear that an end would not come quite so easily now. He'd need to achieve it in battle, though not the sort of death where he were to forfeit and simply allow himself to die. Then he died a coward.

The battle required was one with someone whose strength was truly greater than his. And if Nelliel really was so much stronger than he was, he'd make her deal it, herself.

And to all those of pitying nature… he'd cut them down. They would die for the error of feeling sorry for one of the strength Nnoitra knew he possessed, and they would feel the error in their ways when they felt his single blow of Santa Teresa rip the soul from their bodies.

"_It should be me pitying them," _He thought with a sneer. _"But I won't waste my time with it."_


End file.
